Bloody hell, full and turned on and helpless like this—his head was spinning, and he opened his elbows for a little additional stability. He clenched his teeth when the pleasure hit on the next thrust, angle just right, but the thrusts were slow, deliberate, terribly controlled. Stefan could have been a fucking machine, thrusting with unerring precision and seemingly endless stamina.
Franks hands formed fists, but God, it was perfect, every slow, deep thrust inside him. There was so much in those movements; like this, it felt impersonal, and Frank almost got lost in his pleasure, accepting, taking, relishing the stimulation in his own body. Even without the blindfold, the restraints made it impossible to look after his partner. Not partner, really. The man fucking him and driving him slowly up the wall.
Frank was panting, his hard cock swinging freely without friction or relief as the thrusts got harder, deeper, rocking his whole body, a counterweight to the relentless force controlling him.
Tap, tap, tap.
The sound was familiar, but didn’t quite register, and Frank grimaced with frustration at the distraction.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Hey, boss?”
Raoul, you motherfucker, I will—
Frank’s thoughts disintegrated back into oblivion as Stefan thrust harder. Not hard enough for their bodies to slap together and be heard from the other side of the door—thank God for the pounding music that always filled the hallway—but hard enough to keep Frank’s attention on this side of the door where it belonged.
He heard another voice. Distant, muffled. Then silence. Raoul and whoever was with him must have given up. Thank fuck. Now he could focus on—
Fuck. Stefan thrust even harder, so hard Frank’s eyes watered. He was still a little sensitive from taking Brandon this morning, and being fucked like this was overwhelming. And amazing. Perfect. Far too much, and he couldn’t get enough.
He tried to rock back and complement Stefan’s motions, but he couldn’t move. Not because of the zip ties, or the position, or anything like that. He just couldn’t move. His body was capable of nothing right then except complete passivity and surrender to Stefan, and he didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on in his life.
Stefan fucked him beyond the point of soreness, and all Frank could do was float in that space and give everything he had and take everything Stefan gave him, arousal racing through his body where it pooled and collected and ramped up to unbearable tension. He couldn’t even think to speak, might not have been able to say anything if he’d had his body under control. Stefan hilted all the way in him, breathing harshly, touching Frank’s sides. They were both sweaty; Stefan’s large hands almost gentling him, still controlling, like making sure he was still there with him.
Just as Frank was slowly thinking a little more clearly, Stefan began to thrust again, and that . . . that was too much. Frank groaned, might have said something—or shouted—he sure felt like begging, when Stefan placed a strong, sweaty hand over his mouth to stifle his sounds.
Frank’s body tightened, and his orgasm blew him away, coiled tension releasing in one glorious rush that didn’t seem to stop. He barely noticed Stefan’s erratic thrusts, just let the orgasm explode and rush through him. Nothing else mattered.
Stefan released his mouth, then ran his fingers over Frank’s shoulder, down his spine, before he pulled out. The last thing that had kept Frank anchored. Now he floated on the post-orgasm haze and fell onto his side, trousers still down, hands still tied, still blind. Nothing mattered.
Somebody—Stefan—wiped at him with a cloth. T-shirt? Towel? The touches to his groin were gentle and almost too intense, and he was glad when Stefan tucked him back in.
Fucking hell, you came without a touch.
Stefan’s fingers were on his wrists, now. Frank pulled his hands closer to his chest, not sure whether he wanted to give them up yet.
“Too tight to stay on.” Stefan’s breath brushed his ear.
Frank nodded and let him take his wrists. A tug, then a snap, and his hands were free again. He moved his fingers. His wrists hurt, but that, too, was far away.
“That . . . that didn’t feel like a two-hundred-quid fuck.”
“I put in some extra for a favourite customer.”
“Oh.” Frank tried to move, but really didn’t want to, and Stefan touched him on the shoulder, another soothing contact. The touch stayed with him, trailing over his shoulder and neck, relaxing him and keeping him awake at the same time. Eventually, he became aware of the hard floor and that time was passing. He reached for the blindfold, but Stefan touched his temple. “Taking it off now.” And he did.
Frank blinked, a camo-clad knee coming into focus next to his face as Stefan sat on the floor, smiling down on him, his chest bare, his shirt balled in his hand.
“How you feeling?”
“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“Hold off on the dying part.” Stefan grinned. “Want to get up?”
Frank nodded. “I think.”
“Okay.” Stefan stood first, then offered him a hand.
Frank took it, managed to get his legs under him, and stood. “You’re quite something, you know that, right?”